Thorn In My Pride
by skybound2
Summary: The thorns of a rose help Surana deal with the personal fallout of her choice to have Jowan executed.


**Title**: Thorn In My Pride  
**Author**: **skybound2**  
**Characters**: Alistair/Fem!Elf-Mage PC (Neria Surana), references to Jowan  
**Word Count**: ~1600  
**Rating**: PG  
**Summary**: Neria Surana deals with the personal fallout of her choice to have Jowan executed following the recovery of Arl Eamon.  
**Warnings**: Angst be within. Mage Origin and some Arl of Redcliff spoilers implied.  
**Author's Note**: Some dialogue taken straight from the game, with a couple of transcription liberties. Originally posted over at "Swooping is Bad" on LJ.

**Thorn In My Pride**

Night had settled itself around the camp like a heavy shroud. The moon was conspicuously absent, and the air thick with winter, camped as we were in the shadow of the Frostback Mountains, south of the road that would take us to Orzammar.

In my hand, I held the single rose that Alistair had bestowed upon me, oh so many weeks ago. During a time when I had foolishly thought that bright and wonderful things could still come from this awful war.

_"You know, one good thing about the Blight is how it brings people together."_

I couldn't help the bubble of laughter that surfaced at the memory anymore then I could help the broken sob that followed.

I felt my hand clench tightly around the stem of the rose, feeling the perfect, magically preserved thorns prick the skin of my palms; a warm wetness seeping slowly in between my fingers. But the pain of it meant nothing to me in that moment. It was no more real to me then it would have been were it a dream. Sadly, I knew all too well that dreams were very rarely anything but nightmares in disguise.

The sobs came then, with frightful force. Each inhaled breath coming in short, shallow gasps. My lungs ached with the force of it, and the heaviness of the frozen midnight air. But I cared not.

I had sentenced my very first _true_ friend to death, just three short days ago. My own damning words still rung in my ears, and I knew, beyond any possibility of doubt, that by the time the moon had risen this night, that Jowan was dead.

And I had done nothing to stop it. No, worse then that. I had _demanded_ it.

I had just been...so very, _very_ angry with him. The lies that he had told me, in those fateful times following my Harrowing, still stung, deeper then a wound any Darkspawn had wrought.

Deeper then the thorns of Alistair's rose.

I had thought us, Jowan and me, close; once upon a time. He had been the older brother I had never had. And I could still so clearly remember late nights spent, sneaking from the dormitories with him. Making mischief in the kitchens, or riling up the unflappable Templars (which was a task certainly easier to accomplish than the Knight Commander would have us believe). He had been the one I confided in, when dreams of the Fade would cause me to wake in a cold sweat. The one that I spoke with in hushed tones regarding my growing fascination with the Templar Cullen, and his oh-so-easy to frighten demeanor. Or the one I'd go to on those days when a lifetime locked in the Tower got to be more then I thought I could bare.

I had trusted him that much.

But never once, in all that time, had he mentioned Lily to me. Not directly at least. He was always going on about this girl, or that one. Never was it anything serious, though. Nor did he ever mention his...dabbling in Blood Magic…or his fears of being made Tranquil. No, those were secrets that he kept close to his chest. Whether it was because he was too proud to admit his fears earlier, or that he just didn't trust me enough to open up in such a way, I can not say. All I know, is that he chose to let me in only when such a time had arrived that he had _need_ of my assistance.

And, oh, how I had wanted to give it. How I wished I could help him. He had tried to make it sound like such an easy task: betray the Circle, lie to Irving, steal his phylactery, and help the two _star-crossed lovers_ escape.

If only it _could_ have been so simple. Get in, get out. And fain ignorance when questioned.

A simple, and yet, completely impossible task. I had known that before I had returned to Jowan with Giant Spider gore still stinging my skin, and a Rod of Fire strapped to my back.

I may have trembled when I went to Irving, and told him my tale, but at least then I knew that I was doing the right thing.

But with my own blood staining the petals of the sweet-smelling rose, and Jowan's blood staining my soul, I was much less sure that I had made the right call.

_"Show no mercy."_

The bitter taste of those words was like ash on my tongue. I knew that in the end, it was my own wounded pride that had lead to my decision. Nevermind that there was no Circle for him to return to, I knew that even if there had been, that was not an option I would have – _could have_ – chosen.

Abstractly, I noticed when my knees buckled, and my body sank to the frozen ground beneath me. I was aware, in some far-off part of myself that the blood from my hand was now mixing with the soil beneath my palms, and that Alistair's lovely rose was being crushed beneath the weight.

An army of Darkspawn could have trounced up to me in that moment, and I would neither have noticed, nor cared. So thick and deep was the grief that I was finally allowing myself.

Wallowing. There was never a more exemplary example of the word then I at that moment. I could imagine Shale's response quite clearly in my mind, _'It leaks and it is making pitiful sounds. Disgusting.'_

I laughed again then, for minutes upon minutes, before dropping my head to the ground in utter exhaustion, silent sobs still wracking my body. And I hoped...no, I _longed_ for peace, such as the kind that Jowan now had. I yearned for it in a way that I never had before.

But it was then, in that moment, that I felt it. The singular touch of a velvet soft petal brushing against my tear-soaked cheek. My breath caught in my throat, and with my next inhale, the sweet, sweet smell of that flower flooded my senses.

_"Here, look at this. Do you know what this is?"_

_"Is this your new weapon of choice?"_

_He laughed. "Yes, that's right. Watch as I thrash our enemies with the mighty power of floral arrangements! Feel my thorns, Darkspawn! I will overpower you with my rosy scent!"_

Oh, Alistair.

With more effort then I thought I could possibly possess at the moment, I pushed my self up from the ground, and took several heavy, calming breaths. The winds were bitter now, the cold air whipping around my overly exposed skin. And I knew that if I did not return to camp soon, someone – very likely a former Templar – would come looking. They – _he_ – would worry.

Moments later, when I felt more composed, and I had healed the wound on my hand – if not my soul – I made my way back to camp. From fifty paces off, I could feel the heat of the fire lapping at the air. And of course, there was Alistair, sitting there, stalwart and true, his eyes focused on the flickering flames, a snoring Mabari at his feet. Around the camp the rest of my companions meandered, laughter rising up from the corner occupied by Leliana and Zevran, Shale standing sentinel like nearby. I could see that the flap to Wynne's tent was already closed, and it was likely that Morrigan and Sten had retired to their respective bedrolls as well.

A twig snapped beneath the sole of my boot then, and Alistair's gaze snapped up and locked with mine. I watched, entranced, as a slow, warm smile spread across his face. I felt the fist clenched around my heart loosen in that moment, and a breath of air I had not realized I had been holding released itself from its prison, taking with it just enough of the self-inflicted poison suffusing my body to allow my own lips to ease up at the edges in an answering grin.

Jowan may be gone, but if I was honest with myself, I had so much more now to fight for than I had ever before had; so many more reasons to press forward and live than I ever could have imagined. It was no longer just about being a Grey Warden. Or defeating the Archdemon for the good of Ferelden. It was more personal than that now. Whether that would be a good or a bad thing, I could not yet know. But I could understand now why Jowan had taken the drastic measures that he had, in his ill-advised attempt to escape with Lily. There was no excusing the course of action he had chosen of course, but I could now comprehend the sort of desperation he must have felt at the time.

Love, it seems, does strange things to one's heart

_"I picked it in Lothering. I remember thinking, how could something so beautiful exist in a place with so much despair and ugliness? I thought maybe I could say something. Tell you what a rare and wonderful thing you are to find amidst all this…darkness."_

It was with an unexpected lightness in my feet that I moved to settle on the log beside Alistair, curling into his side, as I allowed the warmth from the fire to work its magic on my bones. I felt him press a soft kiss to the top of my head, and his strong arm wrapped around me, pulling me closer to his body. The scent of a single red rose carrying itself impossibly into the night.

~End

_Wake me when the day breaks  
Show me how the sun shines  
Tell me about your heartaches  
Who could be so unkind?  
Do you dream to touch me?  
And smile down deep inside  
Or could you just kill me?  
It's hard to make up your mind,  
Sometimes.  
My angels, my devils, my thorn in my pride.  
- from __**The Black Crowes**__ "Thorn in my Pride"_


End file.
